“Breakfast is ready. Everyone get up. Time to eat, otherwise I’m eating it all.” Erdal’s brother coughed the words out. He then set the food down and went to brew some tea.
Jason got up, washed his face and changed his shirt. “Where have you been, my friend?”
“I was at a hookah bar, then a party, and then this dude’s house till three in the morning. With a group of his university friends and my Johnny Walker bottles. They all finally fell asleep around two a.m., after which I picked his pocket and got the perfect ID card. I thought it would take at least another day or two to befriend them, but the liquor closed the deal.”
“Great!” Bobby said, grabbing the ID card, “Sounds like you had fun.”
“Fuck no. I hate smoking cheap tobacco and the guy was a dumb ass. But not all was lost,” he said smiling, showing Bobby his new iPhone. “I found this laying around. It should pay for my time and whiskey.”
He then tossed Jason a set of car keys. “And here is your car, straight from the airport parking lot.”
Jason looked at the ID card. It was a damn good match for Bobby. He then took a piece of bread with some cheese and went to inspect the car. Devouring his bread and cheese, he popped the hood, looking over the engine. He turned it on, inspecting it in more detail, checking the fluids and such. Closing the hood, he checked the tires, the spare and the undercarriage. He came back for more food and some tea.
“How does it drive?”
“It drives great. Pulls ever so slightly to the right, but has great pickup, great brakes, and the clutch and gearbox are smooth. I tried to get the newest common car I could find. You have to dirty it up a bit.”
“The road we’re taking will give it all the dust it needs.” Jason sat back down, sipping his tea, reaching for more bread and cheese. He was famished.
Bobby washed up and joined him for breakfast. Erdal’s brother passed out on the couch never touching his tea or breakfast. Jason pulled out the map and went over the route with Bobby.
“It looks like we won’t get to bond like we thought. Now that we have everything, we have to get going. I’m sure we can chat on the drive.” Jason told Bobby as he stared at the map.
“We need to get to Piranshahr, where we’re spending the night. Then we’ll cross the border into Iraq, and work our way to Erbil. The first leg will take us about ten hours, and the second leg about four hours. By tomorrow evening, we’ll be at the embassy in Erbil. And, the best part is this kebab joint half way there, in Zanjan, with the best food I’ve ever eaten.”
“Then what?” Bobby asked.
“Then you’ll order some food and we’ll eat, man!”
“Seriously, then what?”
“Then we’ll get you home on a flight, and all will be good.” Jason filled his teacup with more tea, hoping it would really be that easy.
After breakfast they loaded the car with food for the road, the toys, a suitcase filled with their local garb, and placed two full twenty-liter gas tanks in the trunk. They woke Erdal’s brother up for a quick goodbye. He got up, blood shot eyes and head throbbing, wishing them luck. He then walked over to the desk, took out an envelope and gave it to Jason.
“Baba-Jan asked me to give you this, some money for the road, to bribe or to buy your way around things.” He then collapsed back onto the couch and was out for the count.
Jason and Bobby got in the car, said their goodbyes to the last brother who was working on a truck engine, and started their drive, leaving Tehran for the border.
* * *
In the car, Jason started divvying the money, giving some to Bobby, hiding some around the car, and placing the rest in different pockets. They planned their route carefully, sticking to the busy main roads. The trip would take them towards Turkey on highway 2 and once in Tabriz they would cut back, over the mountains, and down to Piranshahr.
“In another hour or so, Erdal and gang will be at the Turkish border. We’ll give them a call and see how things are. You study the map for now.” Jason handed the map to Bobby.
“I’ve marked all the stops, the main road, the secondary roads and major landmarks. Memorize. Then tear it up and throw it out the window.”
On the way to Tabriz, we are merchants. You are my apprentice and we’re going to The Grand Bazaar to purchase some materials, cloth and cotton inserts, to make teddy bears. On the way down from Tabriz, we just sold our teddy bears and we’re going to visit relatives.
“Keep it simple. Less is better. And, if you don’t know what to say, just point to me and say ‘ask my boss.’”
“Don’t you wish?” Bobby whispered with a smile as he began to study the map.
* * *
Slightly over an hour into the drive, Jason took out a cell phone and called Erdal. He wanted to know where things stood, if all was well and if he had to make any drastic changes in his plans.
“Salam!” Erdal answered on the first ring.
“Salam Alaykum, Erdal Khan, khoobie?!” Jason replied, suffering a long pause as he listened to the conversation in the background.
“O.K…” Erdal finally got back.
“The customs guy was collecting our paper work. He was standing at my window when you called.”
“How are things with you and the crates?” Jason asked.
“The crates are all good. We checked on them two hours ago, and nothing had shifted or broken. We’re twentieth in line for inspection. They’re definitely looking hard this time around.”
“Will you be o.k.?”
“Not too worried,” Erdal said.
“The Turks don’t care about people coming through because they know everyone moves on to Europe. So all they look for is drugs, using dogs, and we’re clear on that note.”
“As for the Iranians,” he continued, “They’re only worried about people and don’t care about drugs leaving the country. All they look for is people, the driver, all passengers, and anyone who might be hiding in nooks and crannies, but they are way too lazy about moving heavy crates around.”
“I’m more worried about you. Have you seen the daily Kayhan newspaper?” Erdal asked Jason.
“No,” Jason said, “We were on the road early this morning.”
“On the first page, there is an article about three men, two pictured and one described, having kidnapped a little girl. The girl is the niece of an unnamed local Mullah. It is a very sad story! You should read it.” Erdal coughed.
“So, they’re looking for the girl and three guys. That would be you guys.” Jason joked.
“Shit! You’re right. I didn’t think about the numbers, just the picture of the two guys!” Erdal suddenly became worried.
“Thanks for the heads up. Call me when you get through.”
“I’ll call in a couple of hours. If I don’t call you, call Baba!” Erdal nervously finished and hung up.
* * *
“How are they?” Bobby asked.
“Good. But, I have bad news.” Jason said, thinking of everyone’s predicament.
“What bad news?”
“You’re all over the news. Apparently, you and some other dudes kidnapped some cleric’s daughter.”
“What the fuck?” Bobby said sitting straight in his chair.
Jason retold the news story he had heard from Erdal. He then began educating Bobby on facial recognition and the psychology associated with recognizing people. Mistaken identity was so common, with the main reason being poor encoding at the time of initial observation. That’s the first time someone sees you or your picture, as compared to seeing you the next time. Second, mistakes were inevitable when comparing two people, mostly because the circumstances for comparison were different; low lights, far away, different hair, and dozens of other reasons. Finally, human nature causes faulty memory all the time. He ended with one basic rule.
“When people think they’ve seen you or recognized you, the only definitive and final confirmation comes in the way you react to their gaze. So, stare back at them as though yo
u’ve never seen them and are happy to meet them for the first time. Never look away, look shy, or look nervous.”
* * *
Nearing the outskirts of Zanjan, Jason sat straight, pointing at a road sign. “Good, finally we’re getting near one of my favorite eateries. I’m starving.”
Jason came by this restaurant on one of his visits, years back. Acting the tourist, he was to meet an asset at the Laundry House Museum, for a tour package, which included lunch. The lunch was a short walk away from the museum, where he ate the best food he had ever had at a restaurant in Iran. A man, his wife and four children ran the restaurant, a family affair all around. The food was fresh, made with love, as though they were feeding family and friends at a wedding. The ingredients were of best quality, for a public restaurant. Jason took the Zanjan – Bijar exit and drove into town.
“Bobby, tear the map and toss it out the window. It’s time to go local, all the way. Are you ready?”
Bobby, tore the map up into stamp size pieces, opened the window looking for a clearing, and then tossed the confetti out the window.
“I’m ready!”
Jason, working from memory, took a wrong turn, then two or three more, but found his way to the restaurant. Parking right across from the restaurant, they got out, stretched a bit, and then entered. They found a table near the window. The tables were clean and empty. As they sat, a waiter loaded the table with water, bread, greens, raw onions, and an assortment of fresh torshi, Persian relish. There were no menus.
“Salam, Khosh Amadeen.” The waiter welcomed them, giving them a rundown of the days’ offerings, and asked for their order.
Jason responded in kind, ordering several starters, two main meals, and two carbonated dooghs for drinks, a popular yogurt based beverage. He sat back, casually taking stock of his surroundings. The place was as busy as it was last time, with families and young couples occupying most of the tables, and solitary elderly men filling the remaining tables. The place was thick with the aroma of great Persian food, intermixed with that odd cigarette or two that people still smoked at the table.
Jason eyed a man sitting several tables away reading the Kayhan newspaper. He did not want to ask for it, but tried to peak at the article below the fold with pictures of the kidnappers. Noticing his gaze, the man politely offered to give him the paper once he was done. Jason tapped his chest in a gesture of thanks, and started on his bread and greens, waiting for the main dishes.
Bobby and Jason were both ravenous. Looking down at their plates, they ate their starters and the appetizers, never looking up. They were making small talk and Bobby was practicing his Farsi. Unexpectedly, a man tapped Bobby on the back, handing him the paper, with his picture facing up. Nearly choking on his food, Bobby stood up, looking the man straight in the eyes, and took the paper, thanking him.
“Please sit,” the man said, pushing Bobby back down, “Are you folks from around here?”
“No,” Jason said, “My apprentice and I are on our way to Tabriz to buy merchandise. We always eat here on our way up and down. What about you?”
“I work at the museum down the street. Have you ever been?” he asked warmly.
“Oh, yes, several times. It is quite interesting, and beautiful inside. Would you like to sit?” Jason stood up as he offered the man a chair.
Bobby’s eyes widened, looking stunned. He looked at Jason as though that was the dumbest question anyone could ask. The man politely refused, wished them luck on the journey, and left the restaurant. Bobby looked at Jason, with that ever so popular millennial WTF look. To which Jason whispered.
“You must make tarof. Didn’t your mom and dad teach you anything?”
In the Persian culture, it was customary to make tarof, the art of offering something even if you didn’t mean it, and to do so at every turn in your daily routine. The polite response was to refuse, at the start. Then, the game began. One hoped the other did not take and the other hoped the first did not stop offering. It was a dying custom, but still very prevalent amongst the elderly. If done poorly or not at all, it showed you as rude or culturally unaware, none of which would be helpful.
Bobby was reading the paper, slowly but surely. Jason did not care for the story, but was very interested in the pictures. They were definitely accurate, clear and recent. It was definitely a picture of Bobby. He grabbed the paper from Bobby, turned it upside down, and waited for his lunch. The lunch arrived within minutes. They ate fast. They talked briefly. They finished the meal with a cup of tea. Paying, they took the paper and left.
Back on the road and feeling quite full, they both began feeling sleepy. A few minutes into the drive, while staring at the beautiful scenery, Bobby passed out into a deep slumber. Time slowed to a crawl. Jason’s mind was full of misgivings and worry. The sun was warming up the car nicely as they reached cooler weather in the mountains.
* * *
Erdal was now number one in line. They directed him into slot #44 and ordered him to open the rear doors. The customs area overflowed with bearded armed guards. A forklift moved behind the truck. A man jumped in the back, comparing inventory to the manifest. He marked a bunch of pallets with red chalk and then jumped out. He ordered Erdal to remove all the marked pallets. Erdal began to complain, just enough, about the inconvenience, the timing, the delays, and moved into his salary, his wife, and his kids. He then topped it off with how this delay would make everything worse. He couldn’t complain too much, but just enough to show dismay. They yelled at him a bit and barked the orders again.
Having removed the pallets, Erdal stood by as two men jumped back in the truck and began to look at his inventory sheet, asking questions about the contents of various pallets. They opened one pallet, with a crowbar, then another, and then a third. All seemed to be as written in the manifest. One man jumped back out, looking over the offloaded pallets. While the other stayed behind staring at the back of the truck as though something was amiss. Erdal didn’t want to interrupt as that may cause suspicion, so he decided to cause a bit of commotion with the man inspecting the pallets on the ground.
“Are you now going to open all of these too? They’re in the sun. Let me at least put them back on the truck, and then you can open them,” raising his voice with every sentence.
The first man jumped out. “No need to yell. We’re just doing our job. Now, stand by your truck and be quiet.”
The customs officer then walked in front of Erdal and his brother, staring at their faces as he looked at some photos on a clipboard. Satisfied, he barked his final orders.
“Load it up and get the hell out of here!”
Erdal quickly loaded the pallets. The Iranian side was completed and his paper work stamped. Now to the Turkish side. He drove through to the Turkish side. They quickly weighed the truck, inspected the paperwork, and directed them to one of twelve lanes. This time around, Erdal was number seven in line. Fortunately, his paperwork was marked with the Open Inspection and Open Crate stamps, which made the Turkish side a little bit faster. In no time he pulled into his stall, driving over an in ground walkway used to carry out under carriage inspections in search of Afghan heroin.
* * *
Afghanistan was responsible for nearly 87% of global heroin production. The region between Afghanistan, Pakistan, through Iran, to Turkey, known as the Golden Crescent, was where a very large portion of that heroin travelled. Nearly the entire heroin in Europe got there by way of Turkey.
There were several men with bright lights looking for hidden compartments, places where heroin and opium could be stored, tapping truck parts as they moved. Meanwhile, with the truck doors open, a drug sniffing dog and handler jumped into the back. Erdal’s brother remained in the cab with his radio on to mask any noises that might emanate from the secret compartment. The dog jumped onto the pallets, smelling all manner of odors but none that triggered any alarms. There were no barks and no anguish on the dog’s part. The dog was happy. The handler jumped back out followed by his dog. The un
derground crew signaled O.K., by turning on their green light. Everything had passed the tests and Erdal was given the go ahead. He got several more stamps on his paperwork. Leaving the border area, they began the drive to Ankara.
* * *
A good twenty minutes away, Erdal made a call. Jason and Bobby were jolted straight when the phone rang. Bobby woke up so suddenly, he hit his head on the side window, slurping a bit of drool from the edge of his mouth.
“Salam!’ Jason picked up.
“Can you speak?” Erdal asked in Farsi.
“Yes,” Jason responded in English.
“We made it through both sides. We’re good, safe and unharmed. We’ll be dropping off our cargo in two days. I’m going to call Baba with the update. How are you?”
“We’re on the up side of our mountain trip. We’ll be there late afternoon, hopefully,” Jason replied happily, as he repeated the news to Bobby.
“O.K. then, be safe, and be careful Uncle, and may God be with you. Keep us posted.” Erdal hung up.
* * *
Bobby was happy for the girl and her father, but looking around he didn’t recognize anything.
“Where are we?” he asked.
Jason told him he had slept for nearly two hours, and that they were over an hour away from Tabriz, after which they were going to drive down towards the Iraq border. Bobby was happy to have napped. His ribs were hurting from over eating, but the nap helped relieve some of the pressure. “I never knew Persian food could hurt so much!” He joked.
“Wait till it comes out!” Jason said, as they both laughed away some of their worries.
“Ouch! Please don’t make me laugh,” Bobby begged.
35 | Take Out
Henry had already prepared a detailed email, especially created for the FBI’s San Francisco regional offices. It contained all the pertinent information regarding the startup. Before sending it, he had to confirm the exact name and number of the person responsible. An expedited email was necessary. The normal channels would be too slow. Henry contacted Warren Spencer, who was now well on his way to Iraq. He called to confirm the FBI contact information and timing. He got the information and the go-ahead.
The Minders Page 19